Chapter Seven
“What time does your brother get here?” Patrick was leafing through some colour charts, comparing them with the splodges of brownish goo smeared onto a board in front of him.
Ellen came and stood close beside him, her arm brushing his. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his linen shirt. She tried to concentrate on the coloured goo.
“Not until the morning. They’re taking the overnight ferry. I can’t wait for you to meet him and his mates. You lot are going to get on like a house on fire. It’s a pity they are only here for a week, you’ll barely have time to get to know each other.” She sighed miserably.
Patrick frowned down at her.
“Well, why doesn’t he stay longer? I thought he was meant to be doing this hotel thing with you. Does he have to go so soon?” He made himself sound disappointed. He would only have to share her for a week. He wanted to keep her to himself, but he also wanted her to be happy.
Ellen leaned forwards to peer at the splodge covered board with Patrick.
“He only has one week of leave. He’s back on duty next Monday.” Ellen linked Patrick’s arm and considered the colours with him. She tapped her finger under a mellow beige.
Patrick smiled knowingly.
“That’s the one Jean-Paul and I thought you would choose. It tones really well with the original stone in the house. We’re going to keep as much of it exposed as possible. He’ll be pleased at your choice.” They were looking at the colour samples of possible new plaster.
Since they had been together, he had thrown himself into helping her with the château. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying it. He looked down at her and put the colour chart on the table.
“Come here.” He grabbed her round the waist, unable and unwilling to resist her. “I love you woman.” He kissed her on the top of her head and then moved to kiss her lips.
She lifted her chin and gave them to him willingly groaning as his tongue flicked tantalizingly across her lips and into her mouth. She pulled back, not wanting him to get carried away. It was so easy to let him. It was so easy for her to give herself to him. But there were builders about today. He didn’t let her go but nuzzled in at her neck instead. She sighed deeply.
“Yes, I know you love me. You told me so not half an hour ago.” She snuggled against him, pressing her head into his hard chest. “I haven’t told David about us yet. He’s expecting me to sleep here.”
It was early September. Three months had passed since she and Patrick had first made love. They had spent every night together since. Three deliciously perfect months.
Patrick frowned down at her. He might be able to grudgingly share daytimes, but he certainly wasn’t giving her up at night too.
“Well, he can expect all he likes. We haven’t fixed up a room for the two of us here yet, and I’m not sure I even want one.” He looked down at her, knowing how much she loved his tiny cottage, and waited until she nodded her head in agreement. “And you’re not staying here without me. Not with a bunch of red blooded males on the loose.” She gave him a playful slap on his arm. He smiled widely now, knowing he had nothing to fear. “So we’re sleeping at mine. I’m not willing to give you up entirely, not even for a day, let alone a whole week, not even for a devoted brother. He’ll get used to it. You’re staying with me and that’s that.” He sighed deeply as he let her wriggle from his arms at last. “Claude is waiting for you in the hall. He wants you to test out the lift. He thinks it’s running a bit slow.” Patrick was referring to the local electrician.
Ellen opened her eyes wide.
“Slow! That’s just not an option. I know how you army guys are. I’d better go and take a look.” She turned towards the great hall, but then stopped as she heard a car pull up on the stones outside. “Who’s that? It’s not the bed people. Are we expecting anyone else today?” She was peering out of the window at a small red car that had pulled up on the forecourt.
He followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as the car drew to a halt.
“Not that I kn…” His voice faded as a flame haired woman stepped out of the car. “Oh My God! What on earth is she doing here?” He asked in surprise as he started for the door immediately.
“Who is it?” Ellen was trying to look past his shoulder but he kept pushing her back.
Patrick’s tone was icy. He pressed her backwards.
“It’s no one. Look, why don’t you go and sort out the electricity with Claude and then go and find Jean-Paul to confirm the plaster. I’ll see to this and catch up with you later.” He barred her way.
Ellen was not about to be put off.
“Patrick. Who is it? She’s so beautiful.” She was leaning round him now, staring through the window at the side of the door. The woman was stretching as she climbed from the car, her flame red hair glinting in the sunshine, her never ending legs looking bronzed and fabulous in the tiniest of tight skirts.
Patrick pushed Ellen back roughly. She staggered against the doorframe as he glared at her.
“Don’t come out. I’ll get rid of her right now.” His voice came out like grit on stone as he moved quickly towards the huge front doors.
Ellen jumped forwards.
“Patrick! What’s going on? Who is she?” Ellen demanded, grabbing his arm.
He spun back round and stared at her desperately. He took a massive breath.
“I’m so sorry Ellen. I didn’t even know she knew that I lived here. I certainly never told her. Ellen…God! I am so sorry but that’s Diane…My wife.” His voice was as hopeless as his look.
Ellen let go of his arm as if she had been burned by him, and tried to sound neutral but her voice quivered slightly.
“Oh! Your wife? I thought you said she’d left you?” Her whole stomach had fallen to her knees. She stared out of the window again, mesmerized by the vision of beauty before her.
He was still trying to block her view.
“She did leave me. Three days after she first saw me in the hospital after I was blown up. She sent me a letter telling me that she couldn’t see me again, that all my stuff was being sent to my parents. That was nearly three years ago. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Look, go and sort the electrics. I’ll get rid of her.” He strode through the doors, giving Ellen no time to argue.
She stared after him, too stunned to move.
The woman was turning, her hair swirling about her shoulders in the autumn breeze. She saw Patrick and gave a radiant smile as he walked down the stone steps to her. Ellen saw Patrick stiffen as the woman swept towards him, hips swinging in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. She wrapped her arms around his neck, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed him full on the lips.
Ellen gasped in shock. Patrick just stood there almost transfixed then he stepped backwards. Ellen heard him speak first.
“How did you find me Diane?” His tone was cool, disinterested.
The woman gave a low laugh.
“Oh Pat. I am still your wife. If you thought I couldn’t find out where you lived, you really have lost the plot. I never imagined the place to be this grand though. It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it. I could do so much with it.” Her voice dripped like smooth honey from her perfectly rouged lips.
Patrick was standing stiffly. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth before he spoke.
“This isn’t my place. I live over there through the forest. I was here seeing a friend. Why are you here anyway Diane?” He was removing her arms from where she had wound them around his neck, his voice was tense. She linked his arm with hers.
“Oh, so this belongs to a friend.” She looked back up at the château. Ellen whipped away from the window as the woman’s voice dripped on. “You must introduce us sometime. As to your other question, well, I just came for a little visit. We haven’t seen each other in so long. Time flies and all that, but there are some things we have to discuss. I must say you’re looking good Pat. Better than when you left me.” She l
aughed lightly.
A muscle flexed in his jaw. He barely opened his mouth as he spoke.
“If you remember, it was you that left me. Lying flat on my back in a hospital bed, three days after I’d been blown up…” He paused, breathing hard at the memory. “Look, let’s get out of here. If you want to discuss anything, we can do it back at my place.” He took hold of the woman’s elbow, turned her away from the château and guided her into the forest without so much as a backwards glance.
Ellen stood almost paralysed. She was sure her heart had stopped beating and then it was suddenly hammering in her chest. Time stood still as she stared out of the window at the driveway. If the little red car hadn’t been sitting on the gravel she would have thought that the last few minutes had been part of a nasty dream.
There was a small cough behind her. She turned and saw a round, dark haired man, standing patiently holding up a length of electric cable. Ellen had no idea of how long he had been standing there. It could have been a minute or an hour or a day. She stared dumbly at him.
The man’s voice came at her as though he were in a very long tunnel. It seemed as though his mouth opened and words came out and then sometime in the future she heard the sounds.
“Are you able to see the elevator now? Monsieur Patrick said you would test it. I can make some alterations if necessary.” His words echoed around numbly in her head and then suddenly reached through the fog to her semi-paralysed brain.
“Yes…Yes of course Claude. I’m sorry. I was a little preoccupied. Tell me what you want me to see.” She followed him blindly, as he led the way back into the great hall.
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of work. She approved the plaster with Jean-Paul and had Claude checking all the electrics again. She began planning colours of paint and flicked through catalogues of curtain material. She went over the number of shutters with the carpenter and took delivery of a few pieces of furniture. She telephoned the specialist bed company to make sure they were delivering her special order that afternoon, and then sat and made several appointments to see pool manufacturers and home cinema experts. At seven sharp the workmen all left.
The red car didn’t.
It was still on the driveway at eight.
It was still on the driveway at nine.
Patrick didn’t return from his cottage.
Ellen sat alone reviewing the next day’s work in the château. Silence surrounded her. At nine-thirty her stomach rumbled. She stood up slowly, her legs feeling like lead, and walked through to the kitchen. Her footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor. She put the kettle on for a cup of tea. The sound of the kettle boiling drowned out the sound of deafening silence around her. She peered in the fridge to see what she might cook, but although it was completely full, in expectation of hungry guests, there was nothing that looked as though it would take the bitter taste from her mouth. She closed the fridge door and turned to the huge kitchen table. There was half a baguette left on a board. She picked it up and nibbled a corner of the bread. It tasted stale and dry. She dropped it back onto the board. She wasn’t hungry.
She forgot her hot tea, grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack and a glass from the cupboard. She walked out of the kitchen and began to climb the wide staircase. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to see Patrick. She wanted to hear him telling her that he loved her and that there was nothing for her to worry about. She looked back down the stairs, out to the drive. The little car was still there, gloating at her, mocking her. She sat on a small chair at the head of the stairs and waited. She opened the bottle of wine and had drunk more than half of it before she decided that he wasn’t coming back.
He was spending the night at his home with his wife.
She put the bottle on the floor by the chair. She couldn’t be bothered to take it back down to the kitchen.
She didn’t stay on the first floor. All the rooms there had been prepared for her imminent guests and although they weren’t finished or in any way luxurious yet, she didn’t want to spoil what she had achieved. She ran up the next two flights of stairs and ducked into one of the tiny attic rooms. There were boxes piled on the floor. She tugged on the cardboard flap of one and pulled out her old sleeping bag. She threw it onto the bare floorboards, watching the dust swirl about her ankles in the fading light, and climbed in fully dressed.
She lay staring up at the high ceiling. A chill seeped through the thin sleeping bag as she lay on the hard floor. She tried to imagine the feeling of Patrick’s arms wrapped around her, his warm, muscled body pressed close to hers. She closed her eyes tightly, willing him to come back to her.
Darkness crept in at the window. She heard an owl in the forest and the breeze gently moving the trees, and the frightened thump of her own heart.
She woke at the sound of an engine revving and sat up instantly. It was a small, tinny sound. She scrambled out of the sleeping bag and looked out of the high window. The little red car was disappearing down the avenue of trees, the tail-lights winking at her in the misty dawn.
She flew down the stairs barefooted, flung back the front doors and ran down the cold stone steps, out onto the path through the woods to Patrick’s cottage.
She burst through his front door and then recoiled as a strange perfume assaulted her senses. She sniffed. A peculiar scent had invaded the cottage. She stood and listened for any sound. She had half expected him to be standing there waiting for her but the living room was deserted. She shivered in the cool atmosphere and walked over to the stove to warm her hands. It was cold. The fire wasn’t alight and it was obvious that it hadn’t been alight all night. There were two empty mugs in the sink. One of them had a dark smear of red lipstick along the rim. She shuddered and carried on, straight through to his bedroom.
The covers were pulled tight over the bed. There was no indent on either pillow. His mobile phone lay on the bedside cupboard. Then with a great sigh of relief, she realized that she was once again surrounded by Patrick’s musky, woodsy scent. Perhaps he had walked to the château to wave off his wife and by some strange chance she had missed him. She turned around and was about to walk out of his bedroom, their bedroom, when she noticed an envelope on the dresser. It had her name on the front.
Scarcely breathing, she picked it up and opened it. There was a short note inside.
Ellen,
I am so sorry. I have to go. I know I should wait and explain everything to you, but I didn’t want to wake you and I didn’t want Diane to cause a scene. Things have become impossible for me to put off any longer. I don’t know when I will be back, but I promise that I will contact you as soon as I have any news. I don’t want to go, but there are some things that are unavoidable and some things I need to change. I have decided to go back to England with Diane and get everything sorted out permanently. Please forgive me for leaving you like this.
Patrick.
She looked aghast at the letter and then read it over again. She didn’t know what it meant. Did he mean he was leaving her permanently? What things were impossible? She didn’t understand any of it.
The tears started to run down her face as she stood there. They gathered on her cheeks and then dripped from her chin onto the floor. She scrunched the letter up in her hand and then shoved it in her pocket. She looked around their bedroom through tear filled eyes. It was the room that she had spent the best weeks of her whole life in, the only room that she ever wanted to sleep in. She turned back towards the door. If Patrick wasn’t here then there was nothing here for her.
She walked slowly across the living room and was about to leave when she noticed his old coat hanging on the back of the door. She lifted it to her face and pulled in a huge breath. His scent surrounded her, filled her. She pulled the coat over her cold, shivering shoulders and then carefully shut the front door behind her. She couldn’t lock the door, there had never been a key, she just closed it firmly as though shutting a section of her life away in a closed room and began the long, slow walk back to t
he château.
She didn’t rush. What was there to rush for? There was nothing here for her without him. The whole forest felt empty, desolate. Not even the birds sang.
It was only as she neared the château that she heard her name being called and a great chatter of voices, mingled with huge bellows of laughter.
She had completely forgotten about David. He had arrived with five of his friends to test out their hotel. They were expecting her to make every effort to impress and then they were going to rip the château apart with their criticisms so that the whole place would be perfect before she opened her doors to the paying public.
She quickened her pace, not ready to see them, but as the situation was unavoidable, she braced her shoulders and ran the rest of the path.
David was at the base of the steps, calling her name, while a pressure-masked Joe unloaded bags from their two jeeps. Adam was negotiating his wheelchair up the newly concreted ramp and Paul tapped his way up the steps with his white stick. James hobbled about on his crutches as Gemma struggled with the bags Joe shoved at her feet.
Gemma threw a bag towards the steps.
“Hey! Just because I’m the only girl doesn’t mean you can make me do all the fetching and carrying.” She was protesting loudly. “Why don’t we tip Adam out of his chair and put all the bags in that? We can come back for Adam later. If we feel like it.” She added. There was a howl of laughter from the men and Adam spun the wheels of his chair away up the ramp as Gemma lunged after him, grabbing the back of his seat with a metal hand.
Adam strained in her grasp but eventually gave up and let his chair roll backwards.
“Oi Cheeky! You only caught me ‘cos I swear that new arm of yours is longer than your real one. I’m going to complain, gives you an unfair advantage. Hey Dave! Where is she? I haven’t seen Ellen in ages and I’m dying for a kiss.” Adam was looking towards the château.
“I’m here!” Ellen called out of the nearest trees. “Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you. I had someone…Something I needed to sort out.” Her voice faltered as they all turned towards her.
Running Scarred (Scarred Series Book 1) Page 12